Claiming His Estranged Viscountess (Rogues From War Book 2) Read online

  That his wife had perceived his pattern also dumbfounded him. She had been a real presence in his life, more than he was prepared to admit. The way she dealt with the ungraceful situation from minutes ago, filled him with admiration. She undoubtedly proved to be his she-wolf, defending her territory with all her might. A faint smile designed in his sensuous thin lips. It was what she had been doing these last years: taking care of his lands, his people and maintaining them out of harm’s way. Invaluable this wife of his! This listed as only one of the reasons he wanted her around, and around she would remain, he would make sure of that.

  The wind blew gusty on her face as she rode her horse along the pastures. At what happened in the study, this unbearable urge to be out in the open and far away from her husband invaded her. The episode tore at her more than she would like to confess, even to herself. The reasons tangled inside her burning her emotions and casting her thoughts in a whirl.

  Mrs Somersby’s visit evidenced his past would always be present, whether she liked it or not. His old friends would assume that he willed to go on carousing inconsequently. The clarity of that instilled an abyssal fear Conrad might very well relapse to his old ways. This would cause her a breakdown. She did not want to risk it. She wanted to go back to the peace she experienced during his absence. How precious it had been! If only he travelled to town and left her untroubled by his quagmires and all it entailed. She did not want to live in this disruptive quandary and wished her life predictable and quiet, each year closing its ordinary cycle. She willed him away, so she could raise their child in a proper environment.

  The way she essentially… hawked on the widow composed another source of rumination for her. Why did the woman’s presence infuriate her in such an explosive way? The sight of her touching her husband fired her fury to a vicious point. A physical need to defile the other woman almost got the best of her. This scared her. Her husband left her raw with emotions she did not nee—and did not want—to stomach. Tears burned in her eyes and she felt utterly silly for them. She would not cry. Would not! She deserved better and she would have it.

  The first fat raindrops cooled her flushed skin. She looked up, solely now did she realise it had been threatening rain for hours, darkness approached with it. No worry. She would ride back to the manor from here. Fortunately, she had chosen a warm riding habit. She pulled the reign to gyrate her horse and sensed it faltering.

  “What do you mean she’s been gone for hours?” Conrad asked the footman, annoyed.

  He sat for dinner and inquired about the mistress of the manor, to obtain that answer.

  “Yes, my lord. She requested her horse saddled and left soon after tea.”

  That meant she rode away as soon as Martha departed. His heart lurched, concerned. She would not have stayed out at dinner time, especially not under the downpour sheeting the windows, in the dark.

  “Have my horse saddled, please.” He oriented. “And call Hughes.” The footman bowed and walked away.

  Conrad climbed the stairs two steps at a time, meeting the butler halfway to his chamber.

  “Hughes, pack blankets and food.” He commanded rushed. “Meet me at the entrance.”

  He did not wait for the man’s bow, walking briskly ahead. In his chamber, he threw on riding clothes, twisted into a coat, took another and ran downstairs.

  His heart pounded in his chest while his horse braved the wind. Neither the frigid rain, nor the gust on his evening stubble swayed him. His thoughts were all on her. In this weather, she would catch her death. His stomach flapped at the possibility. With child, she became more vulnerable whether she liked it or not. He should have thrown the damned widow out the moment she crossed the study’s threshold. This must be the cause of her riding out late afternoon, with rain in the air. The passionate woman in his wife would not be about to accept such display of affront. He would not either, were the roles reversed. He guided his horse blindly, allowing his guts to find the way.

  Time drained through, and rain soaked him to the skin, as he rode to the confines of his estate, becoming more worried by the minute. No trace of her anywhere. He had tried the places she usually headed to, to no avail. He did not want to upset the tenants; but if he did not find her, he would have to ask for their help.

  Riding in the dark did not list among the easiest feats. Hazardous terrain surrounded the area. What during the day seemed harmless might become a source of serious accidents without light. Conrad held lantern suspended over his head; it did not illuminate far ahead though, even less with the fat drops. Desperation threatened to dominate him. He tamped it down with firmness. Panicking would not help matters.

  Both man and stallion negotiated the muddy dirt for miles. The tempest continued to clamour in the fields, relentless. Conrad was losing heart. He would have to go back all the way to talk to the tenants. They laboured long during day at the late spring work. Bothering them would be inhumane.

  Something wiggled in the distance and caught his eye. He peered with effort to devise it in the roaring rain while calling but the noise and the wind swirled it away. He rode faster in the direction it came from, still shouting. His lantern light fell on something glittering, a button. Then a hat and fluttering skirts. She walked, holding her horse’s reign, eyes fixed on his lantern. The sheeting water must have prevented her from seeing it from afar. Quickly he dismounted and approached her.

  When the lantern caught her in its radius, he regarded Aurelia completely soaked, strands of hair sluicing under her ruined hat, bodice glued to her skin, face shiny with moisture. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. Even in such deplorable state, she did not appear ruffled.

  “My horse lost a shoe.” She explained in even tones. “I was walking home.”

  Not in a panic his brave woman! The fact she would take hours to reach the manor in this weather did not frighten her. It did him though. Even a strong, non-nonsense woman like her would succumb to sickness in these conditions.

  “Come.” He just said, relief washing over him with the rain. He lifted her in his arms, placed her on his saddle, legs to the side, and mounted the stallion behind her.

  One hand tied her horse’s reign on his saddle horn, to bring it together with them. From one of his saddlebags, he took out a spare coat, wrapping it around her shoulders, keeping her in the circle of one arm. His other hand guided the stallion. Her body relaxed against him and her head fell on his shoulder, a sign of trust, he rejoiced. As much as weariness, he recognised.

  Conrad remembered an old wooden cottage nearby which had not been demolished. Last he saw, it stood in one piece. He only hoped it would shelter them for the night.

  He devised the thatched building ahead; it seemed all right from where he stood. The rain did not favour visibility though. Close to it, he dismounted, and tried the door. Stuck. After many forceful kicks, it gave. He took Aurelia into it. And returned for the saddlebags.

  The conditions inside stood precarious. The roof leaked in a few places, dust covered the flooring and the sparse furniture, the air damp and cold. Small and two-roomed, it contained a bedroom and a bigger chamber that must have served as kitchen and sitting area. He made a mental note to tell Coleman to have it repaired as the old thing saved them tonight.

  “I did not remember this cottage.” Aurelia said, looking around her.

  “I rode this way the other day and came upon it.” He replied. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have remembered either.”

  He placed Aurelia on a dusty worn chair, the saddlebags on another and walked around the place. Fortunately, a pile of logs lay beside the fireplace cum stove. He busied himself starting a fire; as it came up, it illuminated the room. Soon it would be warmer, he concluded relieved.

  His attention turned to his wife; she stared at him in silence. Not a good beginning, he mused. All he wanted was to protect her from falling sick. He made her stand before him and started undressing her, by the tiny buttons on her back.

  “I can do it.” She said simp
ly, when the buttons were undone.

  “Let me.” He insisted, not gazing her in the eyes, as temptation would be too overpowering.

  Her clothing off, he wrapped her in a dry blanket and put her clothes to dry on the other chair. She sat there, attention on the fire, wet hair down, straight spine. He could not gauge her mood. She might be exhausted or even frightened as far as he was concerned.

  “I will take care of the horses.” He informed, on his way out.

  The horses would overnight in an adjoining cramped barn—also in precarious conditions. After unsaddling both, he found grass to feed them.

  His frame dripped all over, hat gone, midnight hair plastered to his head, clothes wet and cold. Back inside, he undressed his soaked clothes and put them to dry, picking a blanket for himself.

  Aurelia sat with eyes closed seeming to enjoy the warmth of the fire. Her cheeks glowed, and she showed no signs of being indisposed.

  “Are you alright?” He asked anyway.

  She snapped her eyes open, the fire gleaming in the rosewood depths. “Yes, thank you.” She eyed him guarded, diverting her eyes quickly.

  “I’ve brought food. We’ll eat and then rest.” He picked up a bundle of napkin in one of the saddlebags, laying bread, cheese and jam on the napkin on a shabby table.

  They ate in quietude. She seemed hungry, eating her share in eager bites.

  The bedroom was furnished with a pallet lined with old straw. He threw a spare blanket on it, lighting an abandoned candle. Picking Aurelia up, he took her to the makeshift bed. She did not resist, nor did she say anything. That silence of hers disquieted him, but he decided against trying to start a conversation now. It had been a long night. He lay her on the pallet carefully.

  He took her and his blanket away, stretched beside her and covered both with the two blankets. He held her to keep her warm, her head on his arm. They exchanged awkward glances; she blinked a couple of times, falling asleep in seconds.

  The events of the night wired him; sleep took a long time to carry him away. He gazed down at her sleeping in profound oblivion; a wave of something unrecognised invaded him. Oh, but he loved this woman! Solely now it hit him with full force! He had fallen in love with her remembering her in his lonely nights abroad. He rested his head down, his lips on her temple. That deep, robust, fierce emotion he had been carrying was love then. Love for her and their child, the child he helped make not even knowing it was out of this intense sentiment. Not reciprocated, he comprehended. Immaterial though; he would dedicate it to her and their children, regardless. With this in mind, slumber overtook him.

  Conrad opened his eyes in alert. Something different happened. The morning light through the cracks in the solid wooden window greeted him. Memory came back. They slept in a shabby cottage out on his lands, because Aurelia got lost in the rain. He pierced his ears. The rain had subsided.

  In the small hours, he had been up to feed logs into the fire and put on his already dry underpants, for fear of being taken… unawares by his wife’s allures.

  Speaking of which, he lowered his gaze and found hers in the dimmed room. Her bedraggled hair spread on the pallet, beguiling. They kept staring at each other for long moments, a surreptitious communication passing between them. His body reacted to it, to her, to her naked form against his. He must go out and try for cold rain. Only it was not raining any longer.

  “Did you sleep well?” He asked in an attempt to dispel his all too familiar craving for her.

  “Immensely.” She replied, stretching languid along his primed body.

  Blast!

  “Thank you for yesterday, by the way.” She added after her long, long stretch.

  His hand rested on the dainty curve of her still slender waist, his body turned to her. He obliged himself to remain immovable. Except parts of him did not. Stay immovable, that is; or in lassitude at least.

  She adjusted her body, causing her breast to touch his skin. All lassitude gone, he became rocky hard. These morning cuddles began to be exceedingly enjoyable!

  Her head moved and then her elegant lips touched his chest. Oh, dear! His breath arrested in his throat and he swallowed in a dry bobbing of his Adam’s apple. His manhood eager and ready. She kissed his chest again. No!

  “Aurelia!” He breathed tight.

  “Hm?” She answered. Her lips found his nipple, to nibble at it.

  Goddamn it!

  “Is this gratefulness?” He had to know; he did not want her doing this just out of a misplaced sense of compensation.

  “No. This is voluptuousness.” She nibbled the other one.

  He groaned helpless as his arms locked around her and he sought her mouth thirsty. They kissed famished, lengthy. Each moment it transformed in a deeper and deeper kiss, inflaming them.

  “You spent a difficult night.” He mumbled when their mouths separated at last. “I shouldn’t do this to you.”

  As an answer, she licked his throat while one of her hands sneaked into his underpants, finding him hard and in affliction. He was lost. Quite simply.

  He rolled her on her back, palming the side of her breast, holding it to fasten his mouth on it, hungrily. She gasped, arching for him, her head falling backwards. Her knees cradled him; her fingers merged in his mussed hair, making him feel needed.

  “Aurelia,” He breathed. “You make me go delirious!” He confessed, his mouth ravaging her other breast.

  She glued her body to his, fervent, tangling her legs around his, sighing. Her hips moved in wanton rhythm, grazing his now freed manhood. His fingers descended through her middle to reach her core, hot, wet, ready. And massaged it. Damn, but he would not be able to contain himself.

  “Aurelia.” He called her incandescent. “I need you this minute!”

  She spread herself wider in response. He thrust deep and slow as paradise and perdition engulfed him. He held her with both arms, completely merged in her, taking her blind, frantic, as if there was no tomorrow. He took her bursting with fire as a mad man in lust, in need. In love! Held her around her waist, his mouth devouring hers, his body consuming her. He took and gave in the same measure, and wanted to bestow his love on her, convey his cherishing, his devotion. He wished to cover her in the wholeness of his emotions, make her his in every possible way; yearned to dissolve in her, be hers. Be one with her.

  She took everything and gave as good as she got. She moved with him, around him, under him. With him. They laboured together in search of their own heaven, each time more avid, more impatient. Her arms held him firm, her mouth devolved his kisses in between moans, her legs surrounded him hungry. Combustion dominated them, coercing them to be oblivious to anything else as they headed to the precipice. She tumbled there first, gripping him so tight he feared he would collapse. She cried out contorting in delectation, inducing him to his final downfall. It assailed him with violence, as he convulsed raving in wrenching pleasure.

  He fell on her, head buried in her neck, breathless and spent.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Aurelia decided to relax, as Conrad rode his horse unhurried along the green fields, his iron arm holding her firmly in place. They left the cottage soon after eating the remaining of the food he had brought. She suggested they leave her horse there to be picked up later after the blacksmith had shod it.

  She leaned on his chest, taking in the landscape bathed in a cool watery early morning sun. The memory of last night fresh in her mind. When she realised her horse lost a shoe, she became apprehensive. Darkness befell, together with the heavy rain. She thought of the child she carried and blamed herself ten kinds of fool. She must have noticed that it had been brewing rain. The events of the afternoon monopolised her thoughts, leading her to be oblivious to everything else.

  As the hours passed, she walked in the general direction of the manor, hoping the rain would recede, but it did not. Her pace kept steady, progressively worried with the horse and the consequences to her health. A forecast she would take a long time to reach home on
foot as there had been nothing more to do. She should have remembered the cottage; she admonished herself. The urgency to reach home summed to her worries interfered with her wits.

  An enormous amount of time elapsed when she distinguished a light deep in the sheets of rain. She had started walking in its direction, even without seeing who it may have been. Relief drowned her as she recognised Conrad not far ahead. She had the irrational impulse of throwing herself on him and holding him forever. She succeeded in refraining herself though. Making a fool of herself, more than she did already with this impulsive ride, did not appeal to her.

  Hence, she tried to keep to herself, rather than induce a momentary loss of control. The memory of the way he took care of her in the cottage moved her to the verge of tears. The tender consideration he bestowed on her figured beyond anything she imagined of him, or of any man for that matter. This came as completely incongruent with the husband she remembered him to be. His attitude filled her with a honeyed warmness difficult to identify. It made her raw and vulnerable.

  To make matters worse, this morning she gathered no strength in her to resist his nearness. The want of him a fiery acuteness overpowering everything else. She stood no chance; she just followed that uncontrollable pull. And, goodness! The way he took her! Intense, fervent, passionate. There had been a sharp incandescence bordering desperation she never perceived in him. Impossible not to have dissolved in him, with him. The whole thing frightened her. It could get her… attached very easily. Too easily, in truth. If this happened, she would be the joke of the year. She, falling again for a husband who did not inspire a shred of security. How brainless would that be?